No one hates the skylines that make you feel omniscient to a well kept world. From the apartment I just moved into there’s a window in the common area that you can stroll up to and look out at a horizon bordered by the Empire State Building and The Freedom Tower, finally, reaching like forgiveness to the sky. There’s the sound of trains, connecting otherwise distant lives.

Before I get lost in needless prose, let’s say this view represents possibility. New York is filled with possibilities. I love that here someone can crack a beer and then say, “We should start a web series starring thumb puppets,” that someone else offers to do the videography, another person says she’ll do the makeup (of the thumbs), someone across the coffee table says he’ll compose the score. (than you Henry Hypnotic). No one will be paid for this creation, it will likely not generate every profit, but it will bring something into existence that everyone in the room agree should, must, exist.

The forecast for the rest of the week is sunny. And despite my punishing the winter by disappearing to Kenya, I’m ready to be done with all this foolishness of snow and temperature skinny enough to wear my pants.

I the people in the unit next door must have an airport somewhere in their apartment. Planes stop by the window about every seven minutes.

I just read a short story about planes, or one that takes place in a plane that literarily made me jump up in my chair with elation after realizing what it was a metaphor for. I picked the book up from my roommate Andrew’s table, “The Miniature Wife” by Manuel Gonzales (no relation to Elian), The lead story, Pilot, Copilot, Writer, blew me away.

The premise is a plane getting hijacked and circling for twenty years. But the metaphor in there was so apt, about what it is like to return, by plane, what you feel to a place you haven’t been in a long, wondering if your life there is still intact, if your friends are still your friends, your family still your family. Apt for any traveler, and especially apt for someone who has gone away for a long time.

I’m only a few stories into the book, but so far so good.